I'll look after you
by qwertysweetea
Summary: After a particularly nasty run in with her father, Éponine finds herself in a fragile state, stood out in the snow with no jacket on her back or shoes on her feet. There is only one person she wants to call.
1. Chapter 1

**Warning:** Mentions of domestic abuse, injuries and self-hate.

I've read so many hurt/comfort fanfictions in every fandom that are based around this whole 'oh, I'm emotionally compromised so let's have sex' plot and they kind of grate on me a little so yeah... this is my attempt at a Les Misérables, bromance hurt/comfort.

Disclaimer: I do not own nor claim to own Les Misérables or any characters and places associated with Victor Hugo's novel, any screen or stage adaptations and musical soundtracks. No profit is made from the writing for this fanfiction.

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><p>Éponine flipped open her phone and fumbled through the contacts, fingers damp and so numb with the cold that they felt as if they had seized up. It had been a rough night for her, one of many recently and she stood on the snowy street having left in a rage, jacketless and shoeless, without any thought to the winter conditions.<p>

Enjolras and Joly would insist on taking her to the hospital. Jehan, Bossuet and Bahorel would want her to talk. Marius, Courfeyrac and Combeferre even Montparnasse would let her sleep off the chill before they decided on a course of action, and were each as unpredictable as the next, but even then they would all be busy and with battery flashing a dangerous 2%, she refused to risk wasting the only phone call she had on someone who's phone would be silent. It was all for the best, she assured herself… there was only one name on her phone she could imagine calling.

When she came to a rest on the name she hit it without a second thought. It wasn't the first time she had found herself in this situation and it wasn't the first time she had found herself on the phone to him.

"Where?" was his answer, less than two rings in to the call; what was a greeting between friends?

She would have been relieved but she couldn't bring herself to be while the coldness of the pavements sent spikes of pain up through her bare feet. She shuddered violent and vocally. "Outside."

"Don't move." He said, and the phone went dead.

Sometimes she wondered if Grantaire kept his evenings open for these reasons. It was a stupid thought, but it distracted her from the cold long enough to see a familiar car round the corner a few minutes later.

It was always impressive how fast he managed to get across town when she needed him but she had still been stood in the snow for minutes with nothing but a pair of torn jeans and a long-sleeved shirt and by the time he pulled up alongside her, Éponine couldn't have moved to open the car door if she tried; her hands were clasped so tightly to the backs of her arms it could have bruised, but she didn't have too. Grantaire jumped out with a blanket already in his hands and wrapped it round her shoulders before lowering her into the car like a police officer to a criminal, only with sufficient care.

Grantaire didn't say anything on the way back to his apartment, trusting her to speak to him if and when she wished too, and Éponine leaned her head back against the headrest with a contented sigh. There was a comfortable silence between the two of them. Something about Grantaire put her at complete ease.

They were both troubled people with troubled pasts, both understood the importance of boundaries and she had no reason to keep her guard so high… not around him. He wouldn't take advantage of it and push for explanations or answers, and he wouldn't get angry with her or violent at her silence. Not to her face and not when she could see anyway.

Had she not closed her eyes she would have seen Grantaire glance at her with a soft wince, seeing the lights from the street lamps glow against the dark circles under her eyes and the shadows on the cheeks. He had looked away and swallowed back his emotions, knuckles turning white as he gripped the stirring wheel.

She had bags under her eyes from lack of sleep. She had a thin face from lack of food. She had bruises. Grantaire hated seeing her in this way. She was his friend, after all. Youthful, beautiful, so full of light and life even in the pits of hell; the darkness didn't suit her.

"Do you need me to turn up the heat?" He asked, voice gentle.

Éponine shook her head and gave a small smile.

The feeling began to return to her cheeks as the car was pulling up. She looked out the window towards the door of the apartment building and the thin layer of snowy-slush that lined the path, and she shuddered at the prospect of walking across it now she had warmed, but like she kept reminding herself, this wasn't the first time they had found themselves in this situation. She knew better than to think he would let her walk across the frozen cobbles.

Grantaire was at her door, and his arm was around her back and she was lifted against his chest with little effort on her part. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face into the hollow of his neck.

She gave a soft chuckle, relaxing in his arms. "You smell like whiskey."

"Well you smell like damp." He laughed, kicking his door open.

From then it would be the usual routine.

He'd leave her in the bathroom to shower away the coldness while he made them hot drinks, only to break into the steam-filled room with hand over his eyes to turn down the scorching heat, hissing as his hand hit the burning water and with voice calmed with understanding tell her it was too hot and would get chilblains. He'd let her dry and dress, usually in a pair of his joggers and hoodie.

He might have some of her clothes there, washed and folded from the last time but this time he didn't so she pulled a worn green hoodie over her head and a pair of joggers. They swamped her small frame so she pulled the cord on the trousers tight and tucked her hands into the sleeves.

Grantaire would always look over from the kitchen doorway to see her curled up on the sofa, and each time he would smile. It wouldn't be in pity, he didn't know what it was in, in all honesty. He just knew that he wanted to. He felt it, knowing that she was warm and comfortable, and somewhere she could sleep and eat.

Her hair would be damp down her back and pushed out of her face when he would get her to close her eyes, and he would dab at her bruises and cuts with anti-septic. He knew better than to push, ask questions. Then he would be sat next to her and she would lean back into the seat with a warm drink on the other side of her and eyes focused on the television in front of her.

It was quiet, something that between the two of them was only ever achieved while they were on their own. They exchanged glances once in a while and relaxed into one another. Her shoulder against his, then her head against his shoulder, he nudged her playfully, she chuckled and nudged back. Sometime they would crack stupid jokes and talk about their friends, other times they wouldn't say a word.

It was comfortable…. She was comfortable, the unpleasantness from earlier that evening mostly forgotten. It was warm. He was warm. Her heavy eyes fluttered shut, and her head lolled. She couldn't help but smile contently as she drifted into sleep.

Grantaire gave a smile and shifted to move her but somewhere in her sleep Éponine must have felt it. Her heart flipped in her chest, jolting her awake and her hand clasped onto the collar of his shirt. He sighed, and sitting down he took the back of her head in his hand and pulled her close.

She held on tighter and looked up at him from his chest with glassy eyes, tears beading her lashes. Everything was perfect; hot chocolate and a comfortable silence, she had drifted into a gentle sleep next to her friend in confidence he would defend her if the villains in her life were to come looking for her… Yet despite all of that, with the memories of earlier still distressing her, the concept of sleep scared her.

"'Ponine?" He said softly. Out of the many moods Éponine could occupy, this wasn't one rarely came around. As was reflected, they had done this many times, and only once or twice had he bared witness to it. Usually she would be asleep with little distress, and he would carry her to his bed before curling up on the sofa but tonight was one of those rare nights. She didn't want to be alone and he couldn't fault her that.

"Don't leave me in the dark." She muttered, a tear falling free of her eyelashes.

Grantaire swallowed back the lump that had formed in his throat. "You are far from in the dark." He replied, cradling her close to him.

"My life is so bleak." Her voice cracked with fatigue and emotion, "People think I am untouched by it but it gets darker and darker the longer I stay in that place. There is only one light, and he is extinguishing for me."

He listened.

"I don't want to be an enemy of life." She snuffed, giving into an almost helpless laugh "But it seems that life wants to make an enemy out of me. It's going to kill me."

"Not as long as I'm here." He muttered, wiping her tears away with the pad of his thumb. "I'll look after you when you can't do it yourself."

It couldn't have been more heartfelt if he had tried. He loved Éponine; she was one of only a few who he kept himself remotely together for. She was his friend, a type of family that doesn't have the burden of blood pushing on their relationship and he loved their time together though the pain of knowing the circumstances under which it happened outweighed it.

Every sunken glance and sad smile made his insides churn. It brought a bitter taste to his tongue and made his fists ball up. It wasn't the first time this had happened and it wouldn't be the last, and that thought alone filled him more hurt than he could ever have mustered in any of his boxing matches. He wanted to hurt those that hurt her, to let them know what it felt like, but most of all he wanted to tell them how much of an angel she was. He wanted them to regret the way they acted and not just through pain. He wanted them to see how wonderful she way, the potential she had, to give her just one bloody chance… but he couldn't let it show. Not in front of her. She already carried so much; he wouldn't let her carry that also.

So Grantaire took a stabilising breath.

There was a pause; an almost definite second where everything seemed to have frozen with him looking at her and her looking back with tear blurred vision. She leant up to him and pressed her lips to his. Then she felt nothing but those lips, so gentle on hers compared to his abrupt and brutish nature, so different from what she was used to. The pain, the hurt, and all those morbid thoughts that had plagued her mind, the false smiles, the lies, the anguish; it had all turned into vapour in the air. He had a way of doing that, shedding the cloud that loomed over her head.

She had slid onto his lap, one hand still in his, the other holding onto his arm as if she feared she would fall off him.

Éponine knew it was wrong, but then nothing about this situation had been right. Had they been she wouldn't have needed to call Grantaire, she wouldn't have needed to leave her home, she wouldn't be bruised and hungry and poor… but she was and she was in this situation.

It turned in her mind, trying to find a reason to pull away or maybe even concrete her reasons for doing so.

She wasn't in the right frame of mind to make these decisions. She had been through much and she was emotionally drained. All of her moves were made on what her body wanted, and her body wanted her to forget, if just for the moment. Who was she to deny herself that? Who was she to allow herself to use that in order to forget? Who was she to judge if it was wrong to do so while her body pined for it?

Of course there was the one thing she left out of her analysis and that was how Grantaire felt about it. He had kissed back tentatively, hand still holding onto hers, pressed against his chest. His eyes were open though hers were closed much more and she didn't know what he looked at or if he looked at all.

"'Ponine." He sighed heavily as he pulled away, leaning his head against her shoulder. His jaw clenched and unclenched like he was battling with his thoughts, though he was trying not to let it show. He took her small hand in his, grazing his thumb over her knuckles with a gentle laugh. "Not tonight."

He knew what he wanted, but he also knew what he had to do and what he needed to say. As was reflected before, it wasn't the first time and he didn't plan on making the same mistake he did the first time and say no. She didn't need people telling her they didn't want her. It was something she had suffered through her entire life so he would leave it to her but not when she was like this, for a morning when she was less distressed and more in control, a morning which she would knew how little she really wanted… well, whatever this was.

"Why not tonight?" She pressed.

He smiled, kissing her nose. He needed an excuse, and not a recycled one. She deserved better than that. She deserved the truth really, but not right now. Maybe in the morning when she wasn't so gentle and could laugh again, maybe throw the odd punch his way… but right now she needed a restful sleep, the truth could come later.

"Because I'm not a young as you and I've had a glass of whiskey." He laughed, feigning embarrassment.

She looked at him doubtfully for a moment and then smiled softly. "You suck." She chuckled, leaning her head back against his shoulder.

He stroked her back lightly and played with her hair and then he could hear gentle snoring, then he could hear another snoring join it and his eyes snapped open.

They took a while to adjust to the darkness, the television having turned itself off sometime before, and he clicked the light on his watch.

4:07… so he had fallen asleep and Éponine was still asleep, seemingly peacefully. He picked her up as delicately as he could and put her in bed, covering her over before heading back to his sofa blanketless, but he was too tired to care.

God knows what time it was when Grantaire finally woke up again. All he knew was that it was light and there was an annoying little shit by the name of Éponine Thénardier poking his face. He peeled his cheek off of the leather with a grumble and hurled himself up, stretching with a yawn and batted her relenting hand away with every stage of movement he made before he gave up, giving her an unamused glare.

Éponine was stood in front of him, still in his oversized clothes with hair sticking out in all directions. Her cheeks were rosy, and though the bruise brushed across her cheekbone was far more vibrant in the light, the dark circles under her eyes had faded slightly. Her smile was full and energetic.

"Bacon sandwich, burnt to a crisp with ketchup and a coffee, black with two sugars."

"Make your own damn breakfast. You know were the kitchen is." He growled, rubbing his eyes vigorously to wake himself up.

"That's not very gentlemanly." She chuckled, spinning herself out of view. "I'll take my meal in the dining room!"

He hurled the sofa cushion in her direction, missing completely but earning him a loud laugh before he made his way to the kitchen.

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><p>Thanks for reading!<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

In which Grantaire is thinking over his decision to let Éponine go home when he get's yet another phone call. Thank goodness Combeferre is there to help him keep his head.

**Warning:** Mentions of domestic abuse, injuries and self-hate.

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><p>Grantaire stumbled through his door, though how he had managed to find his key much less insert it into the lock the correct way round was anyone's guess.<p>

He was in his doorway, then he was flat on his face on the sofa at the other end of the room, then he was in the kitchen with his hand in a bag of chips, then he was in the bathroom and the chips were down his front and in his hair; however he had past the time in between those four incidences was long forgotten in his drunken haze and with trembling legs and burning throat, he stood. He caught his reflection in the mirror and grimaced, resigning to rinse himself off and go to bed.

It had been a rough evening, even for him.

After the evening with Éponine the day previous he was glad to get out and distract his mind from the rage that was still swelling in his chest but it hadn't worked. When she had left, sporting a particularly comfortable hoodie which she had promised to return to him that very evening, Grantaire had given himself over to an unsettled nap. He awoke unsettled and groggy. Then he was at the Musain, and she hadn't shown up. He drank, he laughed and drank some more. Everything he did was accompanied with a niggling inside him which he couldn't force back, his head still bussing with thoughts of her, his stomach contorting with aggravation and a certain amount of tequila.

Combeferre had patted him on the back and asked what was wrong. Joly had shamelessly grabbed his wrist in an attempt to take his pulse which he was denied. Jehan had placed it down to a girl before he had the chance to reply to Combeferre, and Enjolras had bit his tongue before criticising Grantaire for allowing himself to become such a state over Jehan's assumption.

It was true, he had allowed himself to become a state, much more of one that usual and that was saying something. He enjoyed being a mess but never had his mind been so preoccupied with anything that wasn't Enjolras before. He felt that anger rising in his chest simply thinking about Éponine; stood out in the snow, clutching at the back of her arms, curled up on his sofa, sobbing into his chest, bruised, beaten, lost… fuck. He finished his drink in one mouthful and lifted his arm for another, turning to Combeferre.

"Your friend gets hurt by someone close to them, what do you do?"

Combeferre had given a thoughtful look and pushed his glasses up his nose. "In what sense?"

"They get hit. It was unprovoked."

"I would go to the police." He answered sternly, concern spreading across his face.

Grantaire gritted his teeth, hand tightening around his glass as he tried to control his temper. It was stupid to assume that any of them would understand but that was it, they hadn't been in that situation so he couldn't blame them for not understanding.

"I- can't go to the police 'Ferre."

Combeferre crossed his arms, leaning forward on his elbows. "But why not? If someone is being hurt then regardless of how we feel about these systems the police should be infor-"

"I said I can't go to the police." He growled, slamming his glass down, and it was rewards with a jump. "But I can't just sit here either. What do you do? I know what I want to."

"Don't do it Grantaire." The other warned, placing a firm hand on his arm. "If something need's sorting you make sure you do it properly, within the law. Do not drag yourself down to their level."

He repeated Combeferre's words over in his head. He was a lot of things, had done a lot of things but even with their blood on his hands, which at the moment felt like it could have been a rewarding experience, he would not be sunk to their level.

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

How could he sleep while he knew Éponine stayed with those people? He asked himself once he reached his bed, sheets still scruffy and unmade from her sleep. How could he lock himself off in a drunken unconsciousness while Éponine was so far away at the mercy of those who couldn't care less if she lived or died.

"For a man who doesn't believe in much you sure believe in her." He remembered Bossuet remarking earlier that evening to which he had sighed and replied:

"I don't believe in her. I love her."

They could interpret it however they wanted, he did not elaborated. If they knew him, which they did, then he didn't need to. It was true to a certain extent. He had already been over the thoughts the previous evening as she slept against his chest. He did love her and he felt an overwhelming urge to protect her, kiss her bruises and hold her close until all the bad people disappeared, like a brother, lover, friend… it didn't matter as long as she was safe.

Grantaire's head had barely hit the pillow when his phone rung. In was her name, his heart raced.

"Where?" He asked.

"Outside." She replied, voice cracking slightly.

He stood on unsteady feet. It was obvious he was well over the limit but he didn't care. As long as he could get to Éponine he could leave his car there and get it in the morning. He would carry her the hour's walk home if he had too. He was out the door in seconds, grabbing his keys on the way out, not bothering to lock his door.

He was all but ready to speed off when a car cut in front of his and a familiar voice appeared at his window before he noticed anybody get out. He recognised it before he looked up.

"I don't think so!" Combeferre raged, pulling him out of the car with a strength Grantaire didn't know he had.

"What are yo-"

"Just get in the fucking car Grantaire!" He barged in, pushing the man into the front seat before jumping in the back himself.

The blonde in the driver's seat didn't look his way, he just flicked his hair out of his eyes and slammed his foot on the accelerator.

"I knew you were going to do something stupid. Did you think I didn't know you were talking about Éponine? For goodness sake Grantaire I knew you two have that connection but that doesn't mean we can't help. What good would you have done had you crashed, or killed someone on the way there? Where you planning on driving her back or did the prospect of hypothermia attract yo…"

Grantaire lent his head back against the seat, too focused on Éponine to pay attention to Combeferre's lecture. He let it drone on in the background.

If he drove recklessly to get across town in less than ten minutes then Enjolras' driving was downright terrifying, or at least it would have been under normal circumstances. They were there in minutes and he was pretty sure he had jumped out the car while it was still moving though everything around him had blurred into obscurity around her. The rage that he had felt earlier had been nothing more than a petty irritation compared to what flowed through him now.

Éponine was stood, in the snow as she had been before, with a hand cupping her face. Her eyebrow was cut and a small amount of dried blood was smeared over her face. The bruised was more pronounced. "It's nothing." She muttered.

He had his arms wrapped round her in a second; his eyes focused narrowly on the window of the home were a man's silhouette stood out.

He buried his face into her shoulder, trying to calm the war in his head but the smell of blood was in his nose; her blood, because she had been hurt, her who was so light and passionate and perfect in every way. Grantaire moved back from her slightly, and she knew.

"Don't Grantaire, please. It was nothing." She begged, placing her cold hands on his cheeks.

She tried to force his eyes on her and he tried to keep eye contact but failed. His mind was racing with everything he wanted to do. They flicked over at Enjolras, a passion in his eyes that would rival his speeches with teeth grinding together, looking back at Grantaire as if he waited for orders from him. Then they flicked back to the window where the man peaked out from behind the tattered curtains. Then they fell on Combeferre.

"Don't." He said simply, a hand on his shoulder as if he sought to calm him down. It cleared his vision of the red slightly but did nothing to calm his raging temper. Had the hand not been on his shoulder, nothing would have stopped Grantaire for lunging for the old man's throat but at least now he was aware of it. A part of him prayed Combeferre knew him as well as he seemed to and would hold on tight, another part of him, a stronger part at that, wished for him to let go completely so that he and Enjolras could go to work on him.

Then they finally rested back on Éponine, and her gaze was sobering. "Just take me home and make me hot chocolate… please. I want to go home." Her eyes filled with tears.

Take me home, she had said, but neither of them had noticed. In fact the only one who seemed to was Combeferre who's looks of concern was softened slightly with the sweetness of the moment. He made a mental note to remind the two of them of that later, that Éponine not only considered Grantaire's shabby little apartment home, but that he accepted it like she had always belonged their anyway.

They say home is where the heart is after all, something she had never found with her parents but that she had in the comfort of her friend.

"She doesn't need more violence Grantaire. She need's her friend." Combeferre muttered.

It took a moment for him to collect his thoughts when he finally pulled her close again, brushing a hand softly through her hair. He picked her up, much like he had the night before when she had been too frozen to move and cradled her close to his chest he placed her in the car.

"Do you have all you own to hand?" He muttered.

"Yes." She asked with a sheepish voice.

"What room?" He asked.

"Why?"

"Because I made a mistake letting you come back here tonight. You are coming home with me. You can stay the night, and the night after that… and as many nights as you want."

He wanted her to stay, no… he needed her to stay but he wasn't going to order her. She wasn't going from one controlling household to another. That wasn't going to be what this was. The choice was hers and he held his breath.

She remained expressionless for what seemed like the longest time before it dissolved, though what it became he didn't see. Her arms were around his neck, pulling him in for a childlike hug and a chaste kiss was placed to his lips.

"Second door to the right. Two bags by the door and a box… There is an envelope under my pillow and a shoebox behind a panel in the wall and please, give my sister this." She took off her bracelet, a simple gold-plated thing and placed it in Grantaire's hand. "But don't let him see."

He stood and gazed over at Enjolras, motioning towards the door with a nod.

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><p>Thanks for reading!<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

Grantaire comes out of the house with a few bags, Enjolras comes out of the house holding his hand. Combeferre tries to understand them and her.

This one is more of a filler chapter than anything else.

**Warning:** Mentions of domestic abuse, injuries and self-hate.

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><p>Éponine had tried not to fret as Grantaire and Enjolras head towards the house, and Combeferre had been next to her trying to force back his own worries so he could be calm and reassuring for her. He had no doubt that the two could take care of themselves. Grantaire was a fighter and Enjolras, well he was capable for being absolutely awful if he wanted to be, but that was the issue. He didn't know how long their temperament could hold out, especially being faced with the man they would find great pleasure in destroying.<p>

He pulled Éponine against him, allowing her head to fall against his shoulder. His fingers danced in her hair lightly until he heard her breathing relax. She was exhausted, he could see it in the sunkenness of her eyes. It was a strange feeling, the girl who he had come to know as such a vibrant woman looking as fragile. He tried not to stir her on noticing the two men coming back out of the house; Grantaire carrying her things, Enjolras nursing his hand.

With heart sinking in his chest he slipped out of the back of the car, allowing Grantaire to take his place. Grantaire had tenderly wrapped an arm around her and pulled her against his chest again, she visibly relaxed into him, far more so than she had for Combeferre but he wasn't offended. He took in the two with a warm smile before practically sliding onto Enjolras' lap.

He glared at the man, holding onto the door of the passenger's side. The blonde, who's expression was reduced to an annoyingly pained mix, tried to straighten out his fingers with little regard to the other's irritation.

"So I'm driving, am I?" He asked.

Enjolras didn't reply. He simply narrowed his eyes and held up his hand, already swelling at the knuckles.

Grantaire, though expression still stony, chuckled.

The two of them had sat in a marvel as Grantaire and Éponine had gone about their usual routine once they reached his apartment, almost as if they weren't there at all, and despite all the questions they had, remained silent. He placed her in the bathroom, burst in to turn down the water, let her get changed, dabbed at her cuts with anti-septic, only this time the sofa was subsituted for the bed, and he brought her a hot chocolate, and placed it next to her already sleeping form before slumping down next to Combeferre, running a hand through his hair. He was exhausted, and very much sober by that point. It was Combeferre who broke the silence, muttering that he was going to check on her.

"I appreciate what you did today Enjolras." Grantaire said in a hushed and somehow raw voice once he was sure Combeferre was out of earshot. He overestimated the side of his apartment slightly, Combeferre could hear and once he'd checked her temperature with a hand on the back of her head and pulled the blankets down to her waist, he rested against the doorframe.

"I didn't even see the cut over her eye until we got her back here, I saw the bruise." Enjolras replied through his teeth, straining to keep his fingers straight as he tightened a bandage round them. "I tried… for her. I thought if she was beside me and not you…" He paused, giving an uncomfortable look. "But then I saw him, and I thought of how tiny she is against him, so strong but it not mattering and... something snapped."

From what he could see Enjolras had given up on his hand with a violent hiss and allowed Grantaire to wrap it for him.

He turned over Enjolras' palm. "It's different when it's your own family. It doesn't matter how strong you are when you are going up against someone you can't hit back."

The man paused; face taking a more sympathetic turn. For once there was no malice between them and Combeferre watched with a pained understanding that he could never quite comprehend the reactions that their shared experiences drove them to take.

"She is lucky to have you." Enjolras said, tone surprisingly soft.

Grantaire was taken aback and visibly so, a faint blush fluttered over his cheeks.

"Grantaire. You're needed." Combeferre said softly, walking back into the room.

Both men stood but only Grantaire went through.

Combeferre reached Enjolras and mumbled about them taking their leave. It was the early hours of the morning after all, something they had all forgot in the activity of the evening, and reluctantly Enjolras agreed. He moved to Grantaire's bedroom door, spotting the two in the darkness of the room: Grantaire sat upright against the headboard, Éponine cuddled up to him.

His eyes flicked up to Enjolras.

"Make sure you take care of her."

"I will."

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><p>Thanks for reading!<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

Éponine wakes up cuddles up to a man, and in her sleep fuzzed mind allows herself to believe it's someone else.

**Warning:** Mentions of domestic abuse, injuries and self-hate.

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><p>It was early afternoon when Éponine peeled her eyes open and though a part of her felt like she should be ashamed, she couldn't bring herself to care that she was lying on the chest of a man. She was comfortable and warm now, having been so unsettled. The room spun with her exhaustion and she allowed her eyes to close heavily again, happy to let sleep take her again if it wished to. And she thought; about the night before, about the week, about the man under neither her.<p>

She remembered the touch of a man too delicate to be Grantaire on her head and a shifting shortly after as a body joined hers though he was by her side then and her head lolled into his chest, and she was safe. She reasoned she must have rolled onto him in sleep. It wouldn't have been usual, something that Grantaire would have been used to by now if it had been Grantaire but while still in the dreamlike haze, she wasn't so sure that it was.

In fact, Éponine was very much under the assumption it was Combeferre. The last voice she heard, almost definitely the gentle touch on her head, and he was snoring lightly from under her. Faint breathing. Hand holding onto hers with fingers laced through. She pressed her face into his t-shirt for the briefest second, heart fluttering at the thought.

Combeferre was quite like Marius in a way; they shared a fashion sense which couldn't be found amongst the other Les Amis. Crisp shirts and pinstripe trousers, waistcoats and polished boots… sometimes the waistcoats were substituted for a trim jacket or a coat. Even more regularly the boots were substituted for converses. Rich boy wear, she called it, though both lived in a voluntary poverty while they studied by means of protest and statement. Protest on the part of Marius, whose relationship with his Grandfather remained rocky and statement on the part of Combeferre, whose struggle with debt under the minimum wage and a hefty university fee was going into monthly reports.

They were different heights and Combeferre was built more study while Marius looked like one good gust of wind could knock him onto his face, but on more than one occasion in a drunken haze she had found her heart racing a mile a minute at the sight of Combeferre's turned back as he engaged in convocation.

Whether she was intentionally pretending he was Marius or not was another thing entirely.

Combeferre had noticed but had chosen to ignore it, hoping that the situation would resolve itself as time went on. Maybe it was why he had found a certain amount of comfort in Éponine's reaction to Grantaire's company as they were sat in the back seat of Enjolras' car. How she visibly melted into his side, how you would see all of her walls crumble, yet against his she remained guarded and cold.

She was more comfortable around Grantaire; they could all see it without the 3am adventures out in the snow. He'd assumed Grantaire was ignorant of it for the most part, Éponine he was still unsure on. One thing he did know was that he believed in them and their ability to repair the other and so he had little anxiety over Éponine's infatuation with Marius' likeness in him, or even her fascination with Marius.

Éponine stirred herself awake again, having drifted back to sleep to the thought of lying on Marius' chest and she sighed heavily, face still pressed into the fabric of his shirt. This time she was more awake and aware, she didn't need the faded green of the t-shirt or the bitter yet somehow still fragrant smell of smoke to hit her before she knew it was Grantaire.

She felt a strange mix of guilt and liberation, but it wasn't at all unwelcome. It happened every now and again, when she had a particularly unsettled night and he was concerned about leaving her to wake up on her own. Usually she would be woken by him trying to slip an arm out from underneath her in an attempt to make the perfect escape but despite her shifting as she woke Grantaire remained asleep.

The butterflies had vanished with the dissolution of Marius and his striking resemblance in Combeferre but she was more comfortable now, and relaxed against him on noticing he had become rather stiff. Grantaire might not have been Marius or shared his likeness, but maybe that it what she needed.

Her eyes flicked to the little clock on the bedside table. 13:37… and she was hungry. Éponine shifted again, enough to lean up and look at his face. This is the point at which she would have shaken him awake and demanded breakfast and her stomach was vocally supportive of that course of action but somehow she couldn't bring herself to do it.

Despite the sleep, bags remained etched under his eyes and his skin was pale. In a way, the few days had been as tough on him as it had on her. He wasn't just a friend coming to her aid; he was a survivor having to watch through his past. It would have been exhausting to him, and not just physically.

No, he wasn't Marius in anyway…

Marius was pretty, handsome in his own way where Grantaire was more homely and brutish.

Marius was refined and dandyish where Grantaire was bulky and careless with his movements.

Marius was awkward in a charming way. He was unsure of how to present himself, and knew little of timing or tact where Grantaire was boisterous but understood what situations called for silence and which called for a load, foolish voice.

Marius, too passionate to the point it was almost unearthly, would have insisted on taking her to the hospital the moment he saw the bruise. He would have taken her to the police and pushed with his gentle encouragements to go through her struggle to the strangers who would see her as nothing more than a statistic before throwing her back out the mercy of those who had caused it in the first place when Grantaire gave her comfort and gentle understanding.

So no, he wasn't Marius but that was a good thing because Marius didn't understand her, or know what she needed in the way Grantaire did. In a way Marius gave light to the darkness that was her world, but it was Grantaire who gave her the warmth.

Éponine smiled at the realisation and after a moment of contemplation she delicately rolled off him, landing with a soft thud on the sheets next to him. He did not stir as she quickly made her way out of the bedroom and to the kitchen. It didn't take long for the coffee being streaming down her throat, the sense of enlightenment making it taste all the better.

It couldn't have been more than 10 minutes when a voice, more fearful than violent, came loudly from the bedroom followed by several loud footsteps. "Éponine!"

Grantaire was up and rounded the corner to the kitchen counter with eyes wide and hair dishevelled. He looked like hell. It was obvious the sleep which had been wondrous to her had done little for him, and between the two nights he'd had no time to shave or tame the curls which now stuck out in several directions, including upwards, in a move that seemed to defy gravity.

"I…" He said in a breathy voice, as if he were trying to catch it from the brief run to the kitchen. "I'm sorry." He said, tone changing to something more relief filled.

"Sorry for what?" She asked, though there was really no need. He had been worried she had left as he had slept. That in the night she had been hit with fearfulness over her abandonment of her family and had left to make it right before too much damage was done.

She had found something sweet in that even against her instinct to be offended.

"That I wasn't up to make the coffee." He said, voice raw as he headed for the kitchen counter and over to the kettle. His eyes grazed her face, looking for signs of a sleepless night which he did not find, and the relief he felt on seeing her still here washed over him again.

Éponine laughed, pressing the empty cup to her lips. "Well, I'll forgive you this time if you make me another."

He chuckled, taking the cup out of her hand. "And let me guess… bacon sandwich, burnt to a crisp and drowned in ketchup?"

"Throw some eggs and beans in there and I might even return your jumper." She laughed, cuddling into the too long sleeves of the old hoodie he had put her in the night before.

At that, he laughed.

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><p>Thanks for reading!<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

Bit of a lighter chapter: Grantaire notices tension between Enjolras and Combeferre that could spell trouble, and Bahorel really wants eggs.

[Sorry it had taken me so long to update. It's been a mad two weeks. I promise it won't take me so long to update next time.]

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><p>"I did not have any eggs. That was not conceding ownership of my clothing." Grantaire grumbled and arms crossed on the table in front of him.<p>

They had arrived at the Musain a couple of hours earlier. It was suggested that Éponine stay to catch up with her sleep before coming for a night out but she had brushed it off as she pulled herself into a pair of jeans and did up her boots, all with a glimmer of excitement for what the evening had in store. Grantaire couldn't deny that he had been a little tentative but it was time for him to admit, whether she was out for the night or asleep in his apartment, he was going to be tentative.

And here they were, and neither of them quite knew how after an intense discussion about the upcoming rally and a few drinks, they had fallen into another debate over the ownership of a certain hoodie Grantaire was convinced Éponine hadn't taken off since he hand first given it to her.

Éponine laughed, pushing the sleeves back up to her elbows. "Now, we had a very clear deal. I would return it if you made me eggs." She finished the last mouthful of her drink and placed the glass on the table with lips pursed, watching Bahorel fill it back up for her. "It has been a day and here we are."

"And still no eggs?" Bahorel's expression took a distressing turn.

"And still no eggs." Éponine replied, reflecting Bahorel's distress.

"Shameful Grantaire!" The man bellowed.

Grantaire, far too close to sober to be able to handle the drunken foolery himself, leant his head against the table and growled somewhere in the back of his throat. "I made her bacon and tomatoes." It came out as almost a plead.

"You have fruit in your fridge but no eggs?" That time Bahorel sounded genuinely surprised and looked to Éponine for conformation. She nodded and chuckled into her drink. She was happily attempting to recite the contents of Grantaire's kitchen cupboards when Courfeyrac took a seat between the two, knocking Bahorel across a seat in the process.

"Wait, wait, wait…" His drink landed heavily on the table, he leant forward and held up a hand to silence the two, as if he was going to say something enlightening. "Who doesn't have eggs?"

"Grantaire doesn't have eggs." Éponine giggled into his ear in a childlike manner.

"Now I really feel like eggs." Bahorel mumbled into the rim of his glass.

Enjolras, who had been watching the entire convocation in disbelief, rubbed his face with his unbandaged hand to try to sooth away the headache that was forming over his eyes. "Bahorel, if you don't stop talking about eggs, I will smash you like an egg."

"Chief isn't feeling well." Combeferre added, tone far more serious than the atmosphere in the room. Grantaire noticed a sheltered expression come over him before both of their attentions were taken by Bahorel's load chuckle.

"Chief doesn't like eggs."

"You are ridiculous." Enjolras replied, voice still stern.

"Wait, who doesn't like eggs?" Courfeyrac asked in a dazed way, as if he had fallen asleep and just woken up.

"Chief." Éponine whispered into his ear.

"Oh." He stated plainly. "Grantaire doesn't like them either."

"God could you imagine what would happen if you two got married?" Éponine laughed loudly, sliding down Bahorel's side as she sunk back into her seat, having been thrust upright with the excitement in her voice. "It would be some kind of horrific egg-free household!"

"How did we even get here?"

Joly, who had only just entered to convocation after a particularly involved discussion with Combeferre and Bossuet, added "By car."

"I walked." Combeferre added.

"For fuck sake!" Enjolras winced.

"Are your painkillers wearing off?" Combeferre asked in a hushed tone with raw voice.

"I'm fine." He hissed in reply.

As the others continued with their egg-centric convocation, Grantaire's gaze landed firmly on the little exchange between Enjolras and Combeferre. The tension between the two was clear. It was rare that they would disagree, it was even rarer that the two would be so opposed that a silent storm would form so suddenly and electric that you could practically hear the eerie thunder accompanying their grated glances. Even Courfeyrac, who was rather apt at solving conflict amongst the group, was keeping his distance from them as if any involvement would only add fuel to the already raging fire.

The faux civility was far from practised; an hour into the evening, both had given up any attempts.

Grantaire watched as Combeferre pondered around the table before deciding against his usual seat beside Enjolras. He sat beside Bossuet and sparked up a convocation, eyes avoiding the other end of the table in a way that seemed entirely too childish for the moral compass.

Enjolras on the other hand was doing the exact opposite and was attempting to maintain almost constant eye contact with him and his surroundings. Face sour and irritated, shoulders square as if he was ready to start a fight.

Grantaire had no reason to believe that Enjolras wished any physical harm to Combeferre, yet whether he would stand and verbally reduce him to the level of Pontmercy during political debate was yet to be seen.

Amongst all of this and casual convocation with Bahorel, who had taken it upon himself the role of 'big brother' of Éponine having missed yesterday's action, he noticed the bandaged on Enjolras' arm had become awkwardly bulky. He'd had it professionally bandaged. He'd been to the hospital.

Ah… now it made sense.

Then Enjolras stood from his place at the table and moved towards him, gracelessly pulling on the chair with one hand before sitting down. "We have a problem."

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><p>Thanks for reading!<p> 


	6. Chapter 6

Grantaire and Enjolras make their way to a small, poorly-lit room. Unfortunately it was the last thing Grantaire wanted to hear.

**Warning:** Contains mentions of domestic abuse and alcoholism. If you think you're going to feel uncomfortable then please don't read.

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><p>Enjolras hadn't stayed seated for long, having motioned for Grantaire to follow him out of the busy room when he'd given enough time to get away without being questioned. They ended up in one of the backrooms, one they used to store their protest gear. It was only just big enough to be used as a store room with one small pane of glass that served to fill the space with a little light from the street lamps outside. Flyers were stacked on the small table, and Grantaire pushed them to the side with little care, perching on the edge.<p>

The two were stood far too close than they were comfortable with, to accommodate the signs that were stacked against the walls. Considering how awkward they felt, it didn't seem to matter once the door was closed. Enjolras' expression morphed into something that not many had seen on him before. Fear. When he finally looked back to Grantaire, having attempted to mentally prepare himself, he found that it did little. At the sight of Enjolras the anxiety had returned to Grantaire's face.

"The hospital had been called. The police arrived while I was being x-rayed." His voice was as strong as it ever was, but it was cracking. "Breaking and entering, battery…" He took an difficult breath, face contorting like the words were fighting themselves out. "…theft."

He was, of course, talking about Éponine or more, Monsieur Thénardiér had been talking about Éponine.

Enjolras took a softer breath, soft and shallow, and leant his head back against the door. "Luckily we still head some bail-out money left from last years rally."

"Pay him off" Grantaire said, without a thought. "That's what he wants, just do it."

"He doesn't just want the money." It came out as a growl, he took a step forward, closing the space between them, and place a hand on Grantaire shoulder. "He wants her back so she can bring it in. I'll gladly pay, I suppose everyone here would, but give her up? No way in hell. That's why he went to the police. That's why he'll take this to court. We took her. He wants her back in his custody. We have no place to challenge him."

"She's twenty in two months. She a woman, she doesn't belong to anyone. Not legally or morally."

"She's underage Grantaire." It left his lips sounding gutted and drained. He didn't believe that she owed any loyalty to anyone, must less the family that had treated her so poorly, whatever her age. It was just another way that the system failed her but it was the cold hard facts.

Grantaire felt the blood run out of his cheeks and for two separate reasons. One, at the prospect of having to hand the woman he cared for back to the man who she only cared if she lived as long as she benefited him. Two, because from the moment they had met he had dealt with friendship and the aspects therein, under the assumption she was an adult. He felt a swelling in his chest he knew all too well and his mouth dropped open to gulp in the air, forcing back the lump of sickness that had risen in his throat. "Fourteen? She's fucking fourteen?"

"Seventeen." Enjolras replied. Had Grantaire been looking he would have noticed the slight cringe on his face on Grantaire behalf. "She lied about her age to Marius."

"God I feel sick." He gasped.

"She's very mature for her age."

"Yeah." He laughed, though there was more passive aggression in it than anything else. "No shit!" He knocked Enjolras' hand off his shoulder and leant his head back in his hands, taking deep breaths as if he was holding back a serious wave of nausea. "I'm going to throw up."

Enjolras didn't wish to ask, he didn't believe he needed too. He resumed his place back against the door. "Whatever you've done is the least of our worries. Grantaire, if this goes to court she will be forced back to them unless she testifies."

Grantaire gave another audible gasp, head still bowed. He hadn't come to grips with the latest blow before that one joined it. His head snapped up, his eyes glassy. "You can't put that on her. Her brother and sister will be put into care."

"I can get her a lawyer. One of the best…"

"She doesn't need a lawyer. She needs to not be put through that Hell!"

"I'm being realistic! Now we can either hand her back over to him with a large sum money, we deny him and get dragged to court and he walks away with her, a large sum of money, and we have criminal records, or we can at least attempt to have him put away. I don't know about you, but seeing how pale and sickly looking you've gone, I think you'll benefit from the last option as greatly as me."

He hated it, he hated it as much as Grantaire, but unlike Grantaire he'd had the entire afternoon to calm down to the point he could think rationally.

Somewhere Grantaire knew it was true, but he was reluctant to admit it. There was another way, surely? He tried to convince himself.

"And Éponine? She testifies and… what then?"

"She either goes into care or she does back to him."

Needless to say with that news fresh in the air, the evening had become especially strained. He had attempted to exit the cupboard like room before Enjolras, without saying a word but it had become awkward and cramped.

He was pressed against the blondes side, and he was reminded somewhere in his buzzing mind how he would have killed for that opportunity days ago. The chance to tear each other apart in political debate in hushed voices, so closed the only thing that separated them were their thick jackets… but he couldn't be grateful for this, not under the circumstances. He felt he was back where he was the night he had picked Éponine up; loving their company, loving their time, loving their situation, loving them but it all being crushed under the situation which gave them cause to be there.

Enjolras opened the door and allowed him to exit ahead of him, staying behind to rearranged the posters, giving Grantaire time to reacquaint himself with the other room.

It was something which Grantaire had chosen not to do. He walked straight up to the counter and finished his drink before he made it back to his seat, turning back to the bar to get another. He had always drunk to numb himself to a certain extent, whether it was his past, present or thoughts of the future, and it had been completely lost on him that since Éponine had come to stay with him he had drunk considerably less. He almost felt guilty at heat that flooded his veins with a second drink, but as we reflect, the connection between the lack of drink and Éponine was lost on him, so he did not understand it.

He watched Éponine with Bahorel and Courfeyrac from the bar, the comfort he had got from knowing she was happy and carefree under the protective watch of Les Amis had been swallowed up by a relentless sense of dread that came with knowing that no matter how many eyes were on her she was not, and could not, be protected from what was to come.

She would have to face her father, she would have to face a court that would judge and question her victimhood. She would have to face a system, at least for a couple of months, and Grantaire knew from experience just how long that couple of months would be for her; under lock and key, an eye always on you, the press of the judgemental stare boring holes into your back until you have to admit you are as damaged as they greatly enjoy telling others you are.

Even the most lenient families wouldn't be tolerant of her wild sense of being, with the streets, with Les Amis de l'ABC, or otherwise.

And that was if they won. He cringed, unable to even think of what would happen if they lost, and she was returned to her father's custody like a piece of meat into a lion's cage.

She would be out of his life. He wouldn't be able to protect her, help her. No more late night phone calls. No more scolding showers. No more hot chocolate. No more soft snores from under a pile of sheets. No more soft contentment, leaning his head down to a peaceful sleep knowing 'she is safe'. No more she was here and she had him… no more he had her.

He still hadn't faced the underlying sickness of finding out she was two years younger than she had claimed.

"Grantaire…" The high voice broke him out of his thoughts, only then did he become very aware of the moisture under his eyes. He wiped it away quickly, sniffing back the dampness that threatened to escape.

Éponine was next to him, looking at him with concern and distress. She climbed up onto his lap, leaning her head against his chest in a move that could be both construed as an attempt at comforting or just the actions of a tired, drunken child looking from someone to use as a pillow. Grantaire chuckled sadly, heart being torn apart by the truth and soothed simultaneously by her presence.

Enjolras, who he hadn't notice re-enter the room, gave his own pained smile before standing to leave. Had Grantaire been watching, he would have seen him walk up to Combeferre, and leave with his good arm around his shoulders. But he wasn't, his eyes were on Éponine; snuggled into his hoodie, eyes falling heavily with alcohol and sleep.

"Come on drunkie. Let's get you home." He chuckled half-heartedly and lifted her to her feet to escort her home.

"Did he hurt you?" Éponine questioned the next morning, having slumped down next to him on the sofa. She may have been suffering with a hangover, vision still blurred around the edges as the last of the alcohol burned up, but she was for the most part sober and extremely curious from the night before. "I saw you leave with him. I wanted to run in like your knight in shining armor but Courfeyrac distracted me."

Grantaire glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes and sighed heavily but did not make to reply. He had barely slept, trying to think of a way to tell her about the recent development with her father through the fear of losing her to the system, losing her back to him, losing her to the streets, and losing her as a friend, to her real age. Did he hurt me? If only it were something so simply, he wanted to say.

He gulped down his coffee. Éponine could tell there was something he was holding back, and it wasn't just the whiskey he had slipped into his drink. His jaw had tightened and his fingers had tensed around his mug. The last thing she did was want to pry if he was uncomfortable, especially after how he handled her situation with such respect and understanding, but she was not nearly as strong-willed or tactful as him when it came to these things.

"Grantaire." She said, twisting her body to face him and Grantaire looked away. "What did he do?" Her voice became distressed.

"He…" He took a deep breath. "He told me something."

"What?"

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><p>Thanks for reading!<p> 


	7. Chapter 7

Grantaire can't tell her. He just can't. Courfeyrac makes a brief appearance, Éponine's speech loses all form when she's hurt, and Enjolras finds out why Éponine keeps glaring at him.

**Warning:** Contains mentions of domestic abuse, child abuse and implied underage (but otherwise consensual) sex.

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><p>There were many things on his mind, too many things. They all bounded around like they were trying to avoid each other amongst the chaos. When he finally found his bearings he looked back at her, and they fell still. A chill passed over him, and yet he became painfully aware of the tightness on his mug, the coffee burning his hands through the porcelain.<p>

What did he say? That her father wants her back; because he is a greedy lowlife and he will fight to get back the wage she was bringing in. And he will take her away from him, and from them, and the only way she can stop it is by going through one of the most horrific experiences he went through as a child… because that was the truth, and looking back at her now, with eyes wide with curiosity and mouth scrunched up in worry, he realised he couldn't say it.

He opened his mouth to speak, lost at what to say and breathing in sharply, chocked on his saliva.

Grantaire lurched forward, hand to his chest and coffee spilled over his hands. He gasped for breath in the second of panic before he coughed through it. When he calmed down, and a certain amount of normality was restored, he felt the gentle touch of Éponine's hand on his back. It made him shudder violently and in concern Éponine clung on tighter, wrapping her hand around his arm and pulling herself up against his side.

"Grantaire, what did he do?" Her voice was far more adamant, her maturity carried through in her concern. It was almost motherly.

"Nothing…" He said, standing up abruptly.

"It's not nothing." She insisted, standing up, attempting to pull him back to face her.

Grantaire stopped, but chose not to face her. He stood at an angle to her, facing away but not in completely the opposite direction. He could see her out of the corner of his eye, and Éponine had full view of his face which was betraying him entirely.

He couldn't remember when he had last cared about something so much he could have worked himself into such a state. In fact, he wasn't so sure if he ever had. What was so special about Éponine? Well, that was it, she was Éponine. As he had reflected before, he loved her. She was so bright, to perfect for the horridness that followed her. She didn't deserve it. She was worth so much more. She deserved…

She deserved a better way.

"What did Enjolras say to you?"

An hour later Grantaire was knocking on Courfeyrac's door. The man had answered dishevelled and reluctant to open the door fully. Grantaire could read the signs, but he was less concerned about his friends afternoon than he was about his current situation.

"I need legal advice."

Courfeyrac sighed, glancing over his shoulder before focusing a stern look on Grantaire. "Fighting again?"

"No." Grantaire replied with a shake of his head.

"Paternity?"

"God no."

"Drink driving?" Courfeyrac asked, raising an eyebrow.

This time Grantaire's only reply was a listless sigh. His irritation was as clear in it as Courfeyrac's was in his expression, and with a regrettable little kick to his doorframe, the door opened to him.

The evening had settled in completely when Grantaire had met back up with Éponine. He hadn't told her where he had gone on the understanding that had she known there would be no force on earth that would keep her from accompanying him.

She might have been through hell those past couple of days, but it didn't change the fact that she was a teenage girl, and this teenage girl was still enamoured with one Marius Pontmercy, or as Grantaire mostly knew him: Courfeyrac's dopey roommate. The young lad was smart, or so he had heard. He was still to see for himself, after all, the man might have been intelligent but he was lacking more than his fair share of common sense, such became obvious after his proclamation of his fairly liberal views in front of the blonde boy wonder that was Enjolras.

So he had left Éponine on the sofa, curled up where she had been sitting that morning with the promise what he would bring her back chocolate, and on returning, huge bar in hand, was almost relieved to find her in exactly the same position. His heart sunk slightly when he noticed that his green hoodie had been replaced with an old black jacket that was hers, and that his now lay roughly folded over the back of the sofa.

It was a strange feeling, almost like being given a hoodie back at the end of a relationship. He felt a certain amount of abandonment in it, foreshadowing perhaps, but pressed it back with the same sense of determination that he did when he picked her up on the snowy streets. She didn't need to burden of his hurt on top of her own. So he swallowed it down, and took a deep breath before walking from the hallway and into view.

"Hey." Her head tilted up slightly as he walked into the room but her eyes did not leave the television. She smiled, holding out her hand for the chocolate. "The sister is suing the other sister for damages to her car."

"You got dressed to watch Judge Judy?" He asked softly, the humour which he had intended slightly lacking.

"Work." She sighed, rolling her head back. "Fancy dropping me off?"

Like she had needed to ask. He already planned to head down in hopes of bumping into Enjolras, and he was just relieved to find that she was still willing to be in a car with him, that she hadn't packed up and headed out on her own. The trip was a short one, only a ten minute walk but neither wanted the stress of struggling home on the ice. He recognised Combeferre's car as he pulled up.

He turned off the engine and opened to door when a hand on his shoulder stopped him. Éponine was looking at him with soft eyes and let in to give him a kiss on the cheek. It was a simple, and to Éponine quite casual expression of friendship she had partaken in time and time again, and one that Grantaire had often accepted graciously, if not reciprocated, but he couldn't help but shudder at the feeling her breath against his cheek this time.

Éponine pulled back, eyes dancing with hurt, and without saying a word exited the car.

Grantaire slamming his head back into the seat with a new sense of annoyance and threw open the car door. "Come on Éponine, don't be like that." He pleaded, catching up to her in a couple of strides.

"Does my age really bother you that much?" She asked firmly, turning to face him.

He was taken aback by her abruptness and devastated by her expression all at the same time. The truth was that… well, yes, he was. He didn't understand it completely, and he couldn't place what he was feeling any more than he could explain it. He felt sickened, and a surging guilt, and a grinding betrayal that shouts 'she doesn't trust you' over and over which only added to his guilt for wishing to invade the privacy of the girl he had offered nothing but privacy to.

He had asked himself the night before, while lying on the uncomfortable sofa listening to her soft drunken snoring from the other room, if he would have done anything differently had he known. After hours of drunken reflection he had come to the conclusion that there was nothing he would have considered changing. He had always had her in mind, even in his more regrettable moments. What he did, what they did whether platonic or otherwise was what she had needed.

His mind flashed back over the intimate moments they had shared, and his hands came up to cover his face.

She was a child.

No, she was an adult and it had been what she wanted.

No, she was a child who thought she knew what she wanted.

Slightly nauseated with the alcohol he had bolted upright and hunched over the sofa, mentally punching himself. The Éponine he knew had always been an adult. She was very much like him, having to grow up before her time to fit her circumstances.

Had anyone told him at seventeen, or sixteen, or even fifteen that he was too young to be drinking, or having sex, or to even have such decisions over his body and health then he would have told them to fuck right off, that he needed an adult to claim authority over him when he had been looking after himself for more years than they had known he existed.

He had no right to judge Éponine's decisions, especially not because some stupid law claimed he had more authority over her than she did herself. Laws did not take into account her upbringing. It was blind to her growing-up to fit them.

But he had right to judge his own decisions. Where his choices any more wrong? Did her being an adult before her time change any of that?

"It's getting too late for this philosophical shit." He muttered to himself. His resounded that things had been better when he was too drunk to remember anything, though he didn't completely believe it was true, and had fallen into an unsettled sleep half on of sofa and half on the floor.

Coming back to the present, Éponine was looking back at him and her face was becoming more and more devastated the longer he left it. Finally, Grantaire asked softly. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Would you have let me in?" She asked, following her own line of questioning. "Would you have taken me home?"

"Of course I would have." His voice was painted with a pained honesty.

Éponine had had no real doubt that he would of. It is the reason, after all, that she always reverted to calling Grantaire rather than Combeferre, or Enjolras, or even Montparnasse. Grantaire shared an understanding with her than she didn't expect the others would respect.

"Please, Ép. Why didn't you tell me?" He asked with earnest, pushing a reply for the first time in their friendship.

She replied after a moment silence, the effort that she put into speak properly was slipping. "I've always been an adult who has worked and fought to live, and I don't need no Government asshole tellin' me I ain't good enough to hold the label just 'cus I was born in '96 and not 95'! That's not who I am. I'm a nineteen year old Grantaire, and next month I'll be twenty."

Grantaire could not reply but then sometimes things were better left unsaid. She gave him a shy smile and held out her hand to him which he, tentatively, accepted, and allowed her to lead him into the café.

Enjolras and Combeferre had been there for about an hour, and Courfeyrac for a little less than that, when the two walked in and from the looks on the faces of the two he could tell Courfeyrac had kept their little chat earlier on quiet.

Combeferre's face had become quite solemn. Enjolras' was uncomfortable, and he was tugging at his cast in spite of Combeferre who had taken to smacking his good hand away like that of a mother trying to stop their child picking at their scabs. Both beckoned him over, and with a final kiss on the check from Éponine he joined them.

Little convocation passed between the three of them and Grantaire. For the most part he sat back and listened to them speak about their plans like any other evening. It was Combeferre who redirected the convocation after a while, shortly after Grantaire noticed his gaze shifting itself between Enjolras and the bar.

"She is taking it surprisingly well it seems."

There was an awkward silence between the four of them, all of their looks shifting to Éponine who in her usual fashion was smiling and laughing behind the bar, talking the dark-haired boy Grantaire recognised as Marius with a flirtatious smile on her lips. Her cheeks were rosy, excitement and happiness lit up her eyes in a way that none of them had seen in weeks. It didn't surprise Grantaire, had there not been a little spark of jealously-fused concern for her infatuation he would have happily fed off of that happiness too.

Combeferre and Enjolras where regarding her with the same sort of melancholy attitude too. In fact Courfeyrac was the only one there who seemed to be in good spirits, watching the whole thing with the air of a proud father. If Grantaire recognised the look, and he was pretty sure he did, then Courfeyrac was sending out the 'get in there my son' vibes to Marius. Despite the obliviousness of the name and the business of the counter it was like Éponine was back, and as far as the other two were concerned it was completely out-of-place amongst the dreary news.

She glanced up at them for the briefest second, smile dropping completely from her face as her eyes landed on Enjolras and she shot him a warning look before turning back to her work.

The penny dropped.

Combeferre was still looking her way when Enjolras' eyes landed hard and stern on Grantaire, jaw strong, setting the menacing look on his face.

"What did you tell her?" He asked. The strain in keeping his voice calm was overpowering whatever amount of civility he was trying to summon up.

"I asked her about her age." Grantaire replied honestly. "We talked about it."

"What else?" Enjolras asked, just as strongly.

Taking a short breath Grantaire propped himself up on his elbows on the table in front of him, taking a mouthful of Combeferre's drink before he cleared his throat. "Well… I might have told her that you had a crush on her."

Combeferre spun back round to join the convocation at that point. Face somewhere between amusement and a certain amount of lethargic annoyance. His eyes darted to Courfeyrac, who was doing his best to stifle a giggle.

"Excuse me?" Enjolras asked plainly, unsure if he should believe what he had heard.

"I needed to tell her something believable, and I couldn't bloody well use Combeferre now, could I?" Grantaire justified weakly.

"And why not?" Combeferre asked, crossing his arms over his chest, over the top of Enjolras' "How about telling her the truth?"

"Because she fancies the hell out of you mate." He heard Courfeyrac add, and a "really, I thought she fancied Marius?" reply as Enjolras spoke. He thought their convocation was far more interesting.

"Yeah, she does." Grantaire added.

"Aww." Courfeyrac added, ruffling Combeferre's hair. "You're like a little obtainable Marius, 'Ferre."

Enjolras, not at all pleased with being passed up in convocation, especially for something as pointless as who-fancies-who, stood up and slammed his hand down on the table as he did during his political debates. It took him a second to register which hand had slammed down, and his face creased up in pain for a split second before it morphed into something fierce.

"It's alright chief." Courfeyrac said, placing a hand on his shoulder "We have this covered."

"Oh, care to share?" He replied, harshly.

Grantaire and Courfeyrac exchanged a look. After an entire afternoon of exhausting possibility after possibility with the law student, Courfeyrac pulled out his phone and pushed it across the table to Enjolras who picked it up to read.

"Éponine has a job." He summarised, motioned back to Éponine who was leisurely collecting glasses in her arms with all the grace of a Disney princess.

"Yes?"

"She had been supporting herself for as long as we've known her, we just never saw her benefit from it because it all went to her father and mother. She brings in a full wage. You can legally leave home without parental permission if you can financially support yourself at the age of 16. In other words…"

"…Thénardiér had no legal right over Éponine." Grantaire finished.

* * *

><p>[Believe it or not I didn't pull that legislation out of my ass. In France you can legal leave home without parental consent at the age of 16, provided you can support yourself financially. I don't know how practiced that law is or how it works but it's there. I stumbled upon it yesterday and I had to use it. It worked out a lot better than my original idea.]<p>

Thanks for reading!


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